


(12 + 51) x Abby = Another Wednesday Night

by misbegotten



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Fandom Stocking 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: The math gets complicated.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reeby10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeby10/gifts).



Jethro Gibbs picked up the phone before the second ring. He was used to the sharp-edged perception of instant alertness. The fact that his phone had played the jaunty tune Abby had programmed into his contact list's memory had edged his usual fight or flight response into overdrive.

Abby hadn't called much lately.

It was a strange thing to miss -- late night calls cadging rides when she was drunk on music and adrenaline, luring him to hole in the wall diners for breakfast at 3 am, or simply burbling monologues about their latest case until she hung up abruptly (whether newly inspired to tackle the evidence or suddenly exhausted into actual sleep he was never quite sure).

"Abs?"

Her reply was rushed, nervous energy mixed with a hint of fear, and he had already buttoned his jeans and started searching for his shoes before she paused for breath. "I'm sorry to bother you Gibbs but I've got kind of a situation here and I tried calling -- well, I tried calling everybody and it's like there's some sort of weird electrical interference that is cutting off my cell half the time or maybe it's the bass in the club. Do you think anyone's ever done a study of the effects of a truly wicked backbeat on iPhones since they sort of have music hardwired into their genes. Of course they don't have genes but you know what I mean--"

"Abby." He scooped up his keys and waited to make sure she was on task. "What's going on and where are you?"

"I'm in the bathroom. I mean, I'm at Rooz but I can't get out of the club cause there's this guy who's been scoping me all night and now he won't leave me alone. The girls left already -- big miscommunication there -- and the usual bouncer's out sick and his sub looks even more skeezy than Stalker Guy so I don't really want to go to the car by myself." 

He calculated the quickest way to the club, one of her usual haunts, as he pulled out of the driveway. "On my way."

It was a strange thing to miss… but he'd missed it. And, he thought as he made his way to the club, maybe he ought to try telling her that?

Nah.

The club was pretty much what you'd expect, and Gibbs winced at the all out assault on his senses. He found his way to the ladies' room, and walked in.

"Creep," a woman said as she exited.

"Gibbs!" Abby cried, delighted. That was all that mattered. "I think technically you were supposed to wait for me outside."

He sighed. "Let's go."

She saw the look in his eye, no doubt, and gathered herself with all the dignity she could muster given that she was dressed in something that made her look far younger than her years. As she passed he tweaked a pigtail, and she perked up.

"Thanks, Gibbs," she said once they were outside. "Walk me to my car?"

She was, of course, parked in a dimly lit spot in a questionable area. "Abs, are you trying to test my patience?"

Abby looked at the car, then back at him, and shrugged. "Not tonight. Just happened to be the only spot available at the time."

He took her keys from her, unlocked the door, and held it open.

Rather than sliding into the car, however, she slid into the space between his arm and the car.

"Have I mentioned that you're my hero?" she said. Her breath -- sweetened by drink and that indefinable thing that was Abby -- was on his face. Proximity and want made his groin stir, and he tamped down the urge to kiss her.

"Happy to serve." And he was. After all these years, he always was.

"Have I mentioned that you look yummy at whatever o'clock in the morning it is?" she persisted. The gap between their bodies had diminished to a sliver.

"Abs--" She'd been drinking. That's all this was. "I'll drive you home. You're obviously in no shape to do it."

"I can do all sorts of shapes," she said, her voice huskier than usual. "And if you drive me home, how will you get back?"

"Cab," he said.

She frowned at his impeccable use of logic. "Gibbs, drive me home." But she made no move to, well, _move_. Just Abby and Gibbs, standing in the flickering light of a malfunctioning street lamp, nearly pressed together.

And then she did move. She slid her hands up, around his shoulders, behind his head. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

Damn, it was everything he'd imagined. Because Gibbs didn't kid himself; he'd imagined it.

She breathed into him, a soft sigh of contentment, then pressed her lips to his again. "Gibbs, don't leave me hanging."

He pushed her up against the frame of the car, and kissed her thoroughly. If there was one thing Gibbs did well -- when he felt like it, when circumstances demanded it, when it was Abby -- it was take orders.

Time drew out, screeched to a standstill as he lost himself in the taste of her. Gunpowder (my perfume, she'd explained once), confidence, and want. A perfect combination.

"Why tonight?" he asked, when they parted long enough to draw air.

"Why not?" she answered, in a typically Abby fashion.

Why not, indeed.

"Drive me home?" she asked again, but there was a lot more behind the question now.

Why not. "Yeah," he said. Kissed her again. "Okay."

Abby hummed along with the engine of the car as they drove. It was a pleased sound, something throaty and promising.

"You're not going to back out on me, right?" she asked as he neared her place.

He was operating on autopilot. Instinct and want. This was the time, something told him. The time he'd been waiting for all these years. Not in the press of grief, or fear, or the adrenaline rush of a case. Just another Wednesday night in DC, caught in Abby's orbit.

"Abs, I'm not going to back out on you."

"Good," she said, resting her hand on his knee. Going a bit further, along the edge of his thigh, then _up_. 

She'd be lucky if they made it through her door, at this rate. 

"I got a new tattoo," she supplied. "A while ago."

"Yeah?" It managed not to come out as a squeak. 

She leaned even closer -- now she was practically in his lap -- and whispered, "It says Semper Fi. I've been waiting for the right moment to show it to you."

Always faithful. Well she was, wasn't she? She was always there for him, from the first day he stumbled into the madhouse that was her lab to this.

"Are you?" he asked. 

She got his meaning. She got _him_ , after all. "Gibbs, do you really need to ask?"

No, he didn't. This was the long haul. This was forever.

Semper fidelis. 

"Oorah," he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Rule #12 is, of course, never date a coworker. Rule #51 is sometimes you're wrong.


End file.
